


The House in London

by harin91



Series: Sharehouse AU [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (past) Spain/England, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Domestic, Friendship, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Italian, one German, one Brit, one Frenchman and one Spaniard. What can go wrong when they all live under the same roof?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone who know me, know I have a special love in my heart for what I call 'Sharehouse!AU'. Maybe because I lived in one for more than a year, maybe because multiculturalism is great, maybe because of the success of my other Sharehouse!AU, 'Meet me in Dublin' (fandom: Kanjani8) which I'd like one day to translate in English (is in Italian).  
> This is another attempt. And what's better than Hetalia for a fic like this?
> 
> Warnings: **not beta-ed, English is not my first language**.  
>  This is my first multi-chaptered Hetalia fic!  
> I am brightly-painted-canvas on Tumblr, where I'd like to reply to any question or request about this AU :)  
> Important: I started writing this fic before the whole Brexit thing shook up a bit the lives of Europeans living in the UK... since the current situation is still uncertain, consider this fic is set before the Brexit deal. Thank you!

The message on whatsapp he received just before departing from Rome had said “I'll be waiting at arrivals floor. Look for tall, handsome and German”.

That had been two hours ago and when his smartphone still reached the Italian network 3G. Now, waiting for his checked luggage to pass on the conveyor belt, the phone only took half the signal and absolutely no connection, apart for the airport wi-fi which signing in page loaded so slowly he gave up immediately.

So when his bag had been retrieved and he stepped out of the customs doors, he looked through the small crowd of people waiting just outside to spot one of his future house-mates, a certain Gilbert, apparently corresponding to the previously mentioned features.

Surprisingly enough, the guy was easy to spot: piercing cerulean eyes, short blond hair styled backward with a bit of gel to put them in neat place, very tall and muscular, very much handsome.

“Hi! Are you Gilbert?” he asked timidly, coming closer to the young man and finding himself so much shorter than him. He couldn't help the growing sense of inferiority and awkwardness, especially when the guy's eyes (the clearest he had ever seen) landed on him.

“No,” was the quick reply. But the 'o' vowel sounded so closed and deep that he at least knew immediately he hadn't missed so much: this guy had to be German. Or something.

“I am Ludwig Beilschmidt, his brother,” said again the guy, trying to smile politely but failing miserably due to his peculiar stern face: “He couldn't come.” he added with a sigh that spoke more than a million words about where in fact Gilbert was right in that moment (probably still asleep) and how much he owned his brother for the favour he had asked.

Still, he extended his hand and shook the newcomer's one, with a strong and firm grip.

“You must be _Ve... Fe... Fvelliciaano_?” tried then the big guy, shocking the smaller man with a hint of a blush on his high cheekbones.

“Feliciano, yes,” said nervously the Italian, with a forced big smile to mask his uneasiness.

He was usually a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, always finding the optimism in every situation and not thinking about consequences, if not completely incapable of reading the atmosphere, like some of his friends and closest relatives often said.

But it was some kind of a big situation for him, today: his first day of Erasmus studies in London, England; his first flight all alone; a strange meeting with a strange and quite intimidating big German who turned out to be the wrong German (but also the one he had to meet to get to his new share-house)... he felt slightly out of place today and he knew he had a valid explanation for his behaviour.

“Feliciano Vargas.” he said again, this time smiling more openly and sincerely.

Ludwig blinked quickly, surprised by the other's reaction and said: “Feliciano...” more surely: “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” exclaimed the Italian.

 

Ludwig insisted on carrying his heavier and bigger luggage, so Feliciano just had his backpack and computer bag, from which he retrieved his smartphone and sent a quick (and unfortunately very expensive... he needed a local phone contract as soon as possible) message to his older brother: “ _Sono arrivato, dillo al nonno._ ” _\- I've arrived, tell grandpa._

Ludwig's car was a nice black Toyota which Feliciano soon found out had been rented.

“I usually take the bus to university,” explained the German: “Much more convenient.”

“How old are you?” asked Feliciano, climbing into the passenger seat and fasting his security belt.

“Twenty-one.” said Ludwig, starting the engine: “And you?” he asked.

“Twenty-one, too. Second year of university, Economics of Cultural Heritage and Communications,” explained the other, hearing his phone vibrate in his pocket and finding a reply: “ _Sono il nonno, Lovi ha dimenticato il cellulare a casa. Buona avventura, Feli!_ ” _\- Here grandpa, Lovi forgot his cellphone at home. Have a nice adventure, Feli!_

“I am in Engineering. I don't think we will see each other often, but I live at campus so, if you need a tour...” he offered, once again blushing slightly.

“You don't live with Gilbert?” asked Feliciano, looking at the highway road just outside the airport.

“No,” replied the German very quickly: “I couldn't,” he added: “I'm sorry you'll have to.” slipped past his lips.

Feliciano looked at him alarmed: “Why?”

“He's just... not easy to manage. But he's nice... most of the time.” said Ludwig, trying to be sincere but also prudent.

“What about the others?” asked again the Italian. He knew that, apart from him and Gilbert, three other people lived in the share-house he was staying in. He had found the vacancy notice on a students website, even though it seemed that all the current residents were not students anymore.

“They are... peculiar. Are you easily adaptable?” he asked.

“Usually I'm... yes. Kind of.” replied Feliciano, still uneasy.

“Then you won't have problems with them. I'm... not that easy-going.” admitted Ludwig.

“You seem fine to me,” said the Italian: “You would have refused to come and get me if you were that introvert.” he reasoned.

Ludwig just smiled, focused on the traffic ahead of them.

“Can I call you Lud?” asked Feliciano, suddenly.

“ _Ja._ ” replied the German, just as quickly: “Can I call you Feli? Your name's difficult for me...”.

“ _Sì._ ” laughed Feliciano.

 

They arrived at the apartment in about one hour. The traffic inside the city was definitely atrocious, exactly how Feliciano had expected after reading articles on the internet and listening to his friends who had travelled to London.  
They parked and walked for five minutes more through the residential area.

The apartment's building was old, brick red and white on three levels, with a big wooden front door and balconies on the side, over a very small and unkempt garden.

The front door was open (Ludwig sighed loudly) but after two flight of carpet-covered stairs, they had to ring at another closed wooden door, this time painted white like the old walls.

Nobody answered.

Feliciano stepped away and looked down the stairs, meanwhile the German started knocking on the door.

A loud but distant voice came from inside the flat: “Get the door!”.

Ludwig and Feliciano held their breath.

“I can't right now!” replied another screaming voice, nearer.

Ludwig knocked again, louder this time.

“Gil, I swear to God! Get the damned door!” yelled once again the first voice.

“Can't you go? I'm busy!” said back the other.

Ludwig pounded even louder.

“No, you're not, you're just sitting on the couch playing video-games, move your arse!”.

“Where are you? Why can't you go, instead of screaming?”

Ludwig almost punched the door. The door almost cracked.

Feliciano stared, in disbelief and anticipation.

“Get the door! NOW!” said once again the first voice.

The other was definitely about to reply when Ludwig's voice boomed from the landing outside the door, almost making the walls shake: “ _ÖFFNEN DIE T_ _ÜR_ _!!!_ ”

Silence followed, then keys were turned inside the lock and the door was opened wide: a grinning guy with strange white hair and dark red eyes was looking straight at Ludwig.

“ _Mein Bruder!_ _"_ exclaimed the guy in German, in a mocking tone that made Ludwig even more angered.

Feliciano intervened before one of the two could say or do anything else: " _Ciao..._ " he said, shyly and a bit scared.

The albino looked from Ludwig to him and smiled a bigger (but still kind of sly) smile.

"You must be the new one!" he said in English, extending a hand to shook the Italian's one: "I'm Gilbert, this big dog's older brother. I'm sorry I couldn't come to the airport, I was still asleep." he said completely earnestly, ignoring the awkwardness of the situation. Ludwig was still glaring daggers at him and Feliciano was frozen to the spot, uncertain of what to do and once again very intimidated.

"Okay..." said the Italian after a while, glancing nervously toward the flat and wondering why they were still on the door.

As on cue, the sound of fast steps on the parquet floor of the living room reached them and another guy appeared on the door, pushing Gilbert to the side to let enough space for the newcomers to get inside.

"I can't believe how worthless you are..." sighed the new guy, then directed his attention toward Feliciano: "Come on in, lad. Sorry for having you waiting outside, my house-mate's manners are atrocious as usual. Make yourself comfortable..." he started talking very fast, grabbing Feliciano's luggage from Ludwig's hand and dragging the Italian inside, then gesturing toward the big red couch in the middle of the room: "Sit down, I'll be back in a second, just taking your things to your room... would you like a cup of tea?" the guy was still talking, his voice coming from another room where he disappeared with Feliciano's belongings.

"Yes...?" replied Feliciano, unsure. Without anything else to do, he sat on the couch.

He looked toward the front door, were Gilbert winked at him before locking himself and Ludwig outside the house. After a few seconds Feliciano could easily distinguish loud and quick German words being thrown back and forth between the two.

The third guy came back into the living room to quickly put stuff in order and move objects around and this time Feliciano could look at him properly: they were almost the same height, but the guy was leaner, more slender and moved around (still talking, now to himself) with unbelievable grace for someone dressed in a old, ratty rock band t-shirt and large joggers. He was light blond, very pale, slightly freckled and had vibrant green eyes. And also very big eyebrows.

"You said yes to tea?" he asked suddenly, directing his gaze toward Feliciano, who recoiled.

"Y-yes..." he nodded.

The guy blinked, then gave a hint of a smile: "Of course, tea. I'll be back in a second." he said once again, disappearing toward what Feliciano could only guess was the kitchen.

The two brothers were still arguing outside the door.

Feliciano heard a loud crash and cursing in quick English, so he got up and slowly walked toward the kitchen to see if he could help in some ways.

"Don't you worry, everything's under control!" reassured him the green-eyed guy, then mumbled to himself as he filled the electric kettle with water: "I swear I'm going to kill that frog if he keeps putting his stuff on top of mine...".

The Italian found his behaviour somehow endearing, so he summed up his courage and said: "My name is Feliciano Vargas," with a polite smile: "You remind me of my big brother." he couldn't stop himself to add.

The other turned the kettle on, then looked back at Feliciano and this time smiled more sincerely, blushing a little: "A big brother? Thank you, I guess..." then he composed himself: "It's nice to meet you, Feliciano." he said, getting the Italian's name right if not for the funny English pronunciation of the vowels: "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

"Are you English?" asked the Italian.

"I am. Born and raised in London," said Arthur, talking slower now to be better understood by the foreigner: "And you?" he asked, while placing a tea-bag inside a white teapot.

"I was born in Rome, then lived in Milan. I moved to Venice two years ago, for university..." he explained.

Arthur smiled fondly while pouring hot water inside the pot and placing it on a tray, already full with cups, spoons, a sugar bowl and a pack of Digestive biscuits.

"Venice is very nice. I've been there on holiday," he said, while carrying the tray to the living room. He placed it on the small table in front of the couch and sat down with Feliciano, listening quietly for a bunch of seconds to the conversation (now sounding almost normal) in German outside the door and smirking: "I guess Ludwig got tired of scolding his brother..."

"Do you have brothers?" asked Feliciano, curious.

"I do, I'm the youngest of five. Three brothers and a sister, but we haven't got the nicest relationship. Never had, really. We're scattered across the UK and only reunite on big occasions." he explained vaguely, sipping his tea with such an innate elegance that surprised Feliciano.

"I have also got a younger step-brother from my mom's second marriage. He's... somewhere." he added, with an uncertain look in his eyes Feliciano found almost sad.

"You've got a big family..." stated the Italian dumbly.

"I guess." conceded Arthur: "We are old, traditional British folks. Kirklands were once as numerous as a flock of sheeps, my grandparents used to say," he shrugged: "What about you?"

"We're numerous too, and travellers." said Feliciano: "I feel like I have relatives in every part of the world! America, Argentina, North Africa..." he started to list: "My grandpa always says we're as old as the Roman Empire, so we travelled all over the world and stopped here and there when tired." he joked, making the Brit smile behind his cup of tea.

"For example, my brother lives in Rome now, with grandpa. But he also stayed in Sicily with our uncle and aunt and before that he moved from Milan, where we lived, to New York with my dad. We really are everywhere," he mumbled, almost to himself.

"And now you're off to conquer old Britannia as well?" asked Arthur.

"No, I'm just here on a study program." replied Feliciano, smiling shyly.

He decided he liked Arthur. The Englishman was polite and smiled nicely, even if apparently not so often. He had felt intimidated by his previous fit of rage and hoped in the future never to be the direct subject of one, but when calmed down Arthur was easy to talk with and felt almost comfortable to be around. Just like his big brother Lovino.

They had just finished drinking their tea when Gilbert knocked on the door and Arthur got up to open it: "Are you quite finished?" he asked sarcastically to the German, now alone on the landing.

Feliciano felt suddenly disappointed not to be able to thank Ludwig for picking him up.

Gilbert immediately sat next to him on the couch and took his phone out of his pocket.

"Don't worry about Lutz, he just had to hurry back to uni. He's sorry he couldn't say hi, but you'll see him again soon. Promise." said the German, almost sounding like he was quoting his brother and finishing with another wink.

Arthur looked at his own phone's watch and sighed: "I have to go as well, my shift starts in half an hour. Come, Feliciano... I'll show you around quickly, since I'm sure this tosser is definitely not going to." he added venomously looking at Gilbert.

"You know me so well..." replied the German without lifting his gaze from the phone's screen.

They had a quick tour around the house. The kitchen was next to the living room and on its left a long corridor took to three more rooms and a bathroom.

"My room is the last one, this one is Francis and Antonio's..." explained quickly Arthur, pointing to a closed door in front of them: "They are a French wino bastard and a Spanish brainless idiot, you'll get to hate them as soon as you'll meet them." he said, almost pained just to mention the two.

"They're awesome, Feli! Almost as awesome as myself!" exclaimed Gilbert from his spot on the couch: "Don't listen to Arthur, he's a bitter, heartless sore-ass."

"Sod off!" replied furiously the Brit and yes, Feliciano definitely didn't want to make him angry. He was kind of scary.

"Moving on, this is yours and Gilbert's room," said Arthur, opening a door on a two-bedded room. One half looked very occupied but also very tidy, the other was instead pristine and vacant: "I cleaned up a bit before your arrival, but you better double-check it, just for sure." said absent-mindedly Arthur, before looking at a very uncertain Feliciano, who had just spotted his luggage neatly placed on a chair next to the bed.

"You shouldn't... ehm, having cleaned? I could do it," said the Italian after a while, still considering the whole space in front of him: "Thank you." he said.

"You're welcome, lad." replied the Brit: "And don't worry, you won't catch diseases by living with Gilbert. He's a moron, but he's incomprehensibly a big neat freak. So, just remember to keep your space clean." he suggested, then looked again at the clock and cursed under his breath: "I really have to go. Talking about cleanings and garbage disposal, we have a calendar pinned on the fridge with the weekly shifts. You can look it up and maybe replace Ivan's name with yours," he started explaining faster: "Ok, then... bathroom has a shower and a bathtub, you can put your towels wherever there's space and..." he paused, considering.

"Any questions?" he asked.

"What about the kitchen? How do you use it?" asked the Italian, knowing too well that he had to store away all the food his grandpa had insisted to stuff in his luggage before departure. Packs of pasta, parmesan cheese, spices, the moka pot and even a bottle of olive oil were stashed somewhere between his clothes.

"Except for making tea I really don't, I've been banned from it..." replied Arthur, sounding both sad and resentful for reasons Feliciano really couldn't think about: "Ask Francis when he's home, but we all have a labeled space in the fridge, cupboard and storage to put personal food and I'm pretty sure that if you know how to, you can cook whenever you're hungry." said Arthur, with an encouraging nod.

"I must go and change." he then added quickly, exiting the room.

Feliciano looked around once again considering what was best to do, then started slowly unpacking his things, putting his clothes inside his own closet, his school books, notebooks, DVD and albums on the shelves and his laptop on the desk.

Meanwhile Gilbert had turned the tv on and was watching a variety show, sometimes laughing loudly at the screen, and Arthur had changed in a white shirt, green vest and nicely fitting black jeans. His hair were still unruly, sticking in every other direction, but dressed like this he definitely made more sense, Feliciano considered.

"I'm going out. If you need help, my phone's number is also written on the fridge's door. I have a job at a bookshop next to the nearest tube station, but from there I have to go to my other job, which is at a pub. Ask the others for directions if you want to come. Anyway, call if you're in trouble." he explained quickly from the door, then smiled shyly: "It was nice meeting you."

"You too. Thank you for everything, you're very kind." replied Feliciano, blushing as well.

Arthur nodded, then said: " _Ciao,_ " with a quick wave of his hand and ran out of the house.

Feliciano resumed putting his stuff away.

 

He was storing his pasta in the kitchen when Gilbert finally got up from the couch and joined him.

"Honestly, kid. You're small." he grinned, studying how difficult it was for the Italian to reach the top shelf where his space was. Even on the tip of his toes Feliciano couldn't reach the back of it.

The German got closer and took Feliciano's pack of pasta from his hand, put it down temporarily, then took out all of his stuff from the lowest shelf to make room for the Italian.

"There you go." he said, storing his food on the upper level while Feliciano put his pasta easily on the lower.

"Thank you. You are nice." said the Feliciano, almost without thinking.

"Most of the time I'm not, Arthur's right. But you seem harmless enough and we have to live together for a while, so I better treat you well." grinned the albino: "Oh, and I also was asked to behave by my baby _Bruder_. He must like you!" he exclaimed.

Feliciano blushed bright red and almost lost his grip on a jar of peperoncino.

 

About two hours later, when Feliciano was done unpacking and was about to turn off his laptop and go take a shower, the front door bursted open and he heard a new voice exclaim with theatrical emphasis: " _Chérie, je suis là!_ ".

Gilbert laughed loudly: "Welcome home, Franny!" he said, then added: "Hey, Tony!"

" _Hola, Gil._ " a second new voice said: "The new one arrived, _¿si?_ "

" _Ja._ " replied Gilbert, then called: "Feli! Your worst nightmare's ready to start!"

Feliciano got up from his chair and got to the living room, while the others were still talking.

"Worst nightmare? How cruel!" said the first, very French voice: "I thought that was Arthur's eyebrows." then he added: "Did he already see them? And survived?"

"Hello, nice to meet you," said Feliciano looking at the two other house-mates: one was blonde, with long wavy locks perfectly styled, deep blue eyes and stubbles on his chin. The other's skin was darker, almost golden brown, with dark curly hair and jade green eyes.

"My name is Feliciano, I'm from Italy." he finished his presentation, while he felt he was being thoroughly scrutinized.

Silence fell upon the four of them as the two were still considering him, then suddenly the French guy clapped his hands and declared: "You're handsome enough, so you can stay! _Je m'apelle_ Francis Bonnefoy." he bent in a small and graceful bow, while the others laughed.

"I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," said the Spaniard, smiling widely and warmly at the Italian: "Call me Tonio." he just said then, shaking Feliciano's hand.

Francis took it as well, but kissed it instead of shaking, which made the other two burst into a new fit of laughters and Feliciano squeak loudly.

 

They ended up celebrating Feliciano's arrival with a small, impromptu party.

Francis opened one bottle of his personal collection of French wine (then two, then three) and offered to cook for everyone, but Feliciano insisted on helping him as Gilbert went out to buy 'party supplies'. He came home with a Tesco bag full of paper plates, cups, party hats and festoons of Disney Frozen.

"They were the cheapest," he explained before blowing into a rainbow coloured party horn.

Antonio helped him decorating while singing 'Let it go' in three different languages. "Might as well get into the mood!" defended himself the German while covering the unused fireplace mantel with Anna and Elsa's faces.

They dined, made more than one toast and pretty much narrated their lives to each other, starting from tales from their childhood and ending with their current positions.

Francis was something like a fashion designer, but the words used to explain the concept were more numerous and fanciful. He was twenty-six and had transferred from Paris to London two years before for working reasons. He already knew Arthur from their 'school years' (though which year exactly was unclear, since he also managed to add 'the _rosbif_ had haunted almost all my life with his negativity' and 'he owns me. If it wasn't for me, _Arthùr_ would have died at a very young age') and had managed to rent the house together with the Englishman.

"This house, my job and my dear friends..." said the Frenchman pointing to the others: "Are the few joys of this poor exiled Parisian's life" he sighed. Feliciano smiled once again for the incredible theatricality that Francis always liked to show while talking and gesturing.

Then, in the apartment, came the other two: Antonio first, then Gilbert.

The latter followed his brother to London but didn't actually go to uni or work, he just 'needed to change air' as he explained. How the twenty-five albino managed to pay the rent and survive with no evident income was a mystery to all of them.

Antonio was also twenty-five, from Madrid, an Agriculture graduate who came to London to follow a boyfriend, stayed to court a girlfriend and was currently searching for another love while working at a supermarket.

"Love is always the reason," said the Spaniard, then repeated it in Spanish: " _El amor es siempre la razón._ " for emphasis.

At around two in the morning they were still talking and listening to random radio music when Arthur came home from work, carrying the vest on his arm, yawning and scratching his neck absentmindedly.

"Why are you lot still awake?" he asked.

They had him sit down on the couch, between Gilbert and Feliciano, opened a bottle of beer for him and got back to talk, this time with a tired Englishman's voice joining them every now and then for on point, cheeky comments.

 

At four they were finally tired enough to retire to their rooms.

They carried an already sleeping Arthur to his room and dutily cleaned up a bit of their mess.

Feliciano felt extremely happy that the next morning he had nothing to do and could sleep until noon, just as Gilbert was happily saying to Antonio, who instead had an early shift.

They heard Francis say " _Bonne nuit,_ " to everyone before closing his and Antonio's door and Gilbert replied from his bed, already sounding half-asleep.

All in all, Feliciano felt happy and completely welcomed by the bizarre cluster of house-mates.

He had yet to acclimate to the London lifestyle and start university, but living in a multicultural share-house was definitely going to be a perk of the Erasmus experience if these were the premises.

 


	2. First day in Uni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as the first chapter: **not beta-ed, English is not my first language**.  
>  Feel free to contact me on Tumblr! I am brightly-painted-canvas and I'd like to reply to any questions or requests about this AU :)
> 
> Please note that this chapter has an **Extra** combined to it, which is the snippet of how Alfred and Arthur met ;) So for the USUK, click HERE.

Feliciano didn't really know how he did it, but he managed to successfully take all the right buses on time, find his way around the university structure and be present to his first class of the Erasmus year.

He was also already taking notes, even though the professor was still just introducing himself and his course of study.

Feliciano listened to a good part of the lesson, then when they reached a topic he already knew from what he had studied in Italy, he got distracted and looked around the room, gazing curiously at all his fellow students' faces.

The guy right next to him was, for example, very oddly placed inside the room of historians.

He looked like an athlete or a Hollywood actor, with his well toned body, wide shoulders and tight waist. To complete the picture he was blonde, tall, suntanned and had stunning blue eyes.

The only things that seemed to spoil the other's perfect appearance were his thick glasses, an out-of-place lock of hair curling upward on top of his head and a Star Wars t-shirt.

He also wasn't paying much attention or taking notes: the guy was relaxed on his chair, his arms stretched behind his head and his pen behind his ear. No notebook in sight.

Feliciano was very curious about him, but didn't know how to approach the student, especially with the lesson still on.

The guy must have sensed the Italian's gaze on him, though. He smiled back, whispering: “Hey, dude. What exactly is this old man talking about?” with an amused smile.

Feliciano blinked and looked down at his notes: “Ehm... the Anglo-Saxons settlement?” he replied lowly.

“ Oh. Well, it's boring.” replied the other, grinning some more. He extended his hand under the table: “Alfred.” he introduced himself.

“ Feliciano.” he replied, shaking the other's hand in secret.

“ Spanish?” asked Alfred.

“ Italian.” said Feliciano.

“ Pity, I know a bit of Spanish... I'm American, by the way. Bet you couldn't tell that just by looks, uh?” he joked.

Feliciano smiled, slightly blushing: “I'm sorry I stared, but you don't seem the kind of person to take these lessons...” he reasoned.

Alfred shook his head: “Don't worry, dude. I'm not, in fact...” he replied.

 

Alfred had decided to go to uni that day and participate to some random classes just for the sake of meeting new people from other courses. His own courses would start in a week’s time, but he got bored at 'home', a room in the campus dormitories he shared with a Japanese guy.

Alfred was a Science and Tech scholar who won a travel prize to visit CERN in Geneva. He had then decided to tour around Europe and finish his college years in London, a city he had come to love despite the Brits.

“ We don't go along all that well...” he explained, but with a bemused smile: “Fortunately there are lots of Spanish and Italian people around!” he exclaimed, making Feliciano laugh.

“ I live with an Englishman. He's very nice.” said Feliciano.

“ Well, I guess... there have to be some nice ones, every once in awhile.” smiled again Alfred.

They kept on talking after the lesson, walking around the campus so that Alfred could show Feliciano all the spots and rooms he knew about, to help him settle in.

Alfred seemed to know everyone well, since he kept on greeting people they passed by, in parts of the university addressed to courses so much different than his.

“ I like to go to parties and mix with random people.” he justified himself.

Feliciano really liked Alfred's character and attitude. The American was always smiling and seemed to take everything both lightly and seriously at the same time. He was as much mysterious as very easy to read and it intrigued Feliciano, who had always liked to observe people and learn about them.

“ Have you ever been to the US, Feli?” asked Alfred at some point.

They were in the cafeteria, queueing for a cup of coffee.

“ I haven't, but my parents worked in New York for a while and took my older brother with them.” he replied: “Where are you from?” he asked.

“ San Francisco,” said Alfred doing the West Coast gesture with his hand: “But I've spent my childhood with my grandparents, in a ranch in Montana.” he added.

They got their coffee and decided to go sit outside, on a bench near the gardens, waiting for Feliciano's next lesson to start.

Alfred told him about Kiku, is room-mate and fellow Tech student from Tokyo, apparently a shy and introvert guy, video-games enthusiast (and master player) who sometimes had weird but endearing fixation with random cute and 'girly' things.

“ Don't get me wrong, I too think the cats in 'Neko Atsume' are cute, but his side of the room is literally covered in cute, manga-style cats and sometimes it's creepy.” explained Alfred: “Beside that, he's the best room-buddy in the world.”

Alfred also had a brother, a twin brother who lived in Canada: “He speaks French and he's studying Medicine to go help the Doctor Without Borders NGO.”

“ Wow!” exclaimed Feliciano, in awe: “He must be very nice and brave!”

“I am nice and brave too!” exclaimed Alfred, laughing: “And also better looking than him, but yeah... my bro's cool.” admitted the American, fondly. Feliciano knew that look: it was the expression of someone missing his sibling very much.

 

They were still chatting when Feliciano noticed Ludwig walking down a corridor not far from them and excused himself to go talk to the German.

“ Lud!” he called, beckoning the other's attention: “I wanted to thank you for the other day,” he said with a smile, stopping right in front of the Engineering student: “But you left so suddenly...”

“ I am sorry, Feli.” said Ludwig, in a gentle tone: “I had lessons to attend to and I was already running late.” he then looked slightly up and Feliciano realised Alfred had joined them.

“ Hey, Ludwig.” greeted the American, hands in his pockets and a small smile.

“ Hello, Alfred.” replied the German, in a more serious and composed tone. Then his attention went back to the smaller Italian: “How are you? Does Gilbert bother you?”

“ Oh, no. He's very kind with me. You don't have to worry!” said Feliciano: “I'm making friends with all of them, they're nice.”

“ Even the British one,” added Alfred with a snicker.

Feliciano looked puzzled, but nodded: “Yes, even him.”

“ I'm glad you think it that way.” said the German student, with a small sigh of relief: “They're not the easiest people to be around. At least for me...” he said.

“ They can't be that bad!” commented Alfred: “How many are them?”

“ Four. One is Ludwig's brother, then there is a Spaniard, a Frenchman and the Englishman I told you about...” explained Feliciano: “Plus me, of course.”

“ Well, that's a wild bunch of European people. Seems messy enough,” laughed Alfred.

“ I don't really like 'messy'...” admitted quietly Ludwig, making the American laugh louder.

“ But don't worry, we're fine!” added the Italian: “Actually, they're taking me out tonight, to the pub. Would you like to come?” he asked the two of them.

“ Doesn't sound like a bad idea,” said Alfred: “Can Kiku also join?”

“ Yes, of course.” smiled Feliciano: “Ludwig?”

“ I'll see if I can make it. I have to study...” replied the big German.

“ C'mon, man! Lessons just started, you can't be that busy!” said Alfred.

Ludwig briefly closed his eyes as he collected his patience and said once again, directly at Feliciano: “I'll see if I can make it tonight.”

“ Okay...” replied Feliciano, confused.

“ I have to go now, it was nice meeting you again.” said the German, straightening his back and smiling the smallest smile toward the Italian before heading down the corridor.

“You too!” called back Feliciano, adding: “See you later! Hopefully.”

Then the Italian's attention turned back to Alfred, who snickered again.

“ That Ludwig! Does he ever chill?” asked the Science student.

“ I don't know... I don't know him that well.” replied honestly Feliciano.

“ Me neither, but he doesn't seem to like me at all... I don't really know why.” said Alfred, picking up his phone to send a quick text to Kiku: “I'm awesome, so people usually like me instantly, you know?”

“ Oh...” was the surprised reply of the Italian: “Everyone does?” he asked.

“ Well, I don't really get along with a Russian kid in my classes, but that's mutual and another story completely...” mumbled Alfred, hitting 'send'.

They didn't have to wait long for a reply, since the phone lit up right in the American's hand.

“ Kiku's reply is 'I will see according to my previous plans'...” Alfred sighed and looked amused at the corridor where Ludwig had disappeared: “They'd make a great duo, these two. With their kind of replies...” he said.

Feliciano laughed and shook his head: “Although I don't know them... it seems so.”

Alfred glanced back at his phone's screen to check the clock: “So, do we still have time?” he asked.

Feliciano looked at his own phone and nodded: “Yes, half an hour...”

“ Okay, then. I'll show you around!” offered the American, leading the way down the corridor.

 

That night, they met at the Old White Lion.

Alfred and his roommate Kiku where already waiting for them at the entrance: they introduced themselves and shook hands with Antonio and Gilbert, somehow also falling for Francis's hand-kissing trap.

In the blink of an eye they were sat on the housemates's usual table, in a quiet corner but near enough to the counter, and they were lively chatting, thanks to Alfred trying out some of his Spanish with Antonio and Gilbert being extremely interested in extorting some informations about himself from a very shy Kiku.

“ It is nice to meet you,” said Feliciano to the Japanese guy, taking advantage of a distraction to the albino's inquisition provided by a waitress coming to take their orders: “Alfred said you like cats.” he smiled.

“ And dogs, too.” smiled back Kiku, a little less timidly: “Would you like to see some photos of my parent's dog?” he asked the Italian.

“ I'd love to!” exclaimed Feliciano, coming nearer to look at the screen of Kiku's phone, where pictures of a small, fluffy white dog had started to scroll.

“ His name is Pochi.” said Kiku, proudly.

“ What's your order, ladies?” asked Gilbert, interrupting them.

“ Oh... I'll have a... blonde beer?” said Feliciano, not having looked at the menu yet.

“ The same.” said quickly Kiku, then toward the Italian: “I don't usually drink much alcohol, to be honest.”

“ Two golden ales for them, birdie.” winked Gilbert at the waitress.

“ Don't worry, you don't have to drink it all...” said Feliciano to Kiku, while the waitress, accustomed to Gilbert's antics by now, slapped him on the head with the menus she was collecting from their table.

“ Poor Gil...” laughed Antonio.

“ It's the place,  _ mon ami _ ,” argued Francis, with a sigh.

“ Yeah, they only employ cranky people, like our own Brit.” added Gilbert, one hand still on his fair hair.

Feliciano looked behind the counter, where Arthur was spilling beers and chatting with their waitress, preparing their orders. He wanted to go and talk to him, but he seemed busy and Gilbert chose that moment to say: “Lutz said he's sorry he can't come.” reading a text he had just received.

Feliciano deflated visibly and Alfred placed a warm hand on his back: “Don't be sad, buddy. He'll come next time.” he smiled, encouragingly.

The beers (and a Diet Coke for Alfred) arrived and they made a toast, each in their language and traditional way.

“ That's it! I'm giving you my  _ Bruder _ 's number!” proclaimed Gilbert after everyone took their first sip. Feliciano's beer went down the wrong way. He coughed and asked: “Why!?”

“ So you can call him out for having stood us up. How do you say it in Italian?” asked Gilbert, looking down at his phone. Feliciano took his own out of his pocket and replied: “Like...  _ dare buca _ or  _ paccare _ ...”

“ Tell him he  _ dere bucah _ to us!” exclaimed the German, making everyone laugh.

“ He's a  _ paccador _ !” suggested Antonio, cheerfully.

“ He has  _ paqué _ all of us!” added Francis.

“ I feel they're creating a whole new language.” smirked Alfred. Kiku just nodded with an amused smile, then sipped more of his beer.

 

They chatted and joked, mixing their languages even more as the beer's level lowered inside their glasses. Alfred and Gilbert became instant friends disagreeing over who was more awesome of them two, while Feliciano and Kiku bonded over shared passions for animals and food.

They ordered another round of drinks and, while Feliciano and an already very inebriated Kiku went on a quest to find the toilet, Alfred had a close encounter with a grumpy British waiter they all, later, confessed to know very well.

“ You told me he was nice!” exclaimed Alfred, faking an affronted expression: “Such a liar you are, Feli!”

“ He's been nice to me!” cried embarrassed the Italian, making everyone laugh.

Said waiter joined them only at the very last, fifteen minutes before closing time and refused to talk directly to Alfred. Instead, he sat down heavily and gulped down the last of Gilbert and Antonio's beers.

“ You could get your own.” snorted the German.

“ You already paid for these, though.” shrugged Arthur, barely suppressing a burp.

Feliciano and Alfred exchanged a surprised glance, while Kiku laughed loudly, completely gone after just one glass of beer.

“ Help that poor child,” smiled Arthur, as the Japanese nearly fell from his chair.

“ I'm taking him home in a bit, there's no worry.” said Alfred.

“ Such a relief, then...” commented skeptically the Brit.

Francis intervened before the night could end with a scuffle and ten minutes later they were all outside the pub, making sure Alfred and Kiku found their Uber back to campus.

“ I want to invite you all to  _ hanami _ ! Come to  _ hanami _ !” exclaimed happily Kiku from the back seat of the car and Alfred shook his head fondly over the strange behaviour of the Japanese, but then agreed: “Yes, come to hanami. Next sunday some Asian exchange students are having a picnic in Regent’s Park.” he explained.

“ We'll be there, pal!” cheered Gilbert, making a thumb-up sign to the American.

Feliciano nodded despite having heard Arthur's low rumbling against the gathering behind his back.

“ And, Feli...” added Alfred, before the driver could start the engine: “Make sure to invite Ludwig, ok? This time he really can't say no.” he smiled knowingly, waving goodbye to the group of house-mates and sending a small mocking kiss to Arthur, who rumbled louder.

The car left and they all agreed on walking home, a twenty minutes route during which there was enough time to ask Feliciano about his first day at university and Arthur about his flirt with a new interesting American.


	3. Hanami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as the first chapter: **not beta-ed, English is not my first language**.  
>  Feel free to contact me on Tumblr! I am [brightly-painted-canvas](http://brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com/) and I'd like to reply to any questions or requests about this AU :)
> 
> I've also doodled a [layout of the house](http://brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com/post/148506413328/the-house-in-london-chapter-1-extra-the-house)!

On Thursday, Kiku confirmed the place and hour of the annual hanami picnic.

On Friday, Feliciano gathered the courage to call Ludwig and invite him, to which offer he received an unexpected positive response.   
On Saturday, they all prayed for the rain to stop falling and the sun to shine upon London.

Thanks to Kiku’s army of  _ teruterubozu _ (small ghost-like dolls he made and hung outside the window as amulets for the good weather) and probably also thanks to Francis’s never-ending string of curses against the humidity in the air ruining his hair, the rain stopped during the night.

When they all arrived at Regent’s Park on Sunday morning, however, the sun was far from shining: the sky was covered with a thick layer of grey clouds and humidity was still at its peak, to Francis’s complete discontentment.

They laid plastic sheets between the wet grass and the blankets they sat upon, under the cherry trees not yet in full bloom.

“Maybe we should have waited another week,” considered Kiku, looking upward with concern, to the still bud-covered branches.

“We can say today is a rehearsal for next week!” suggested Alfred, taking off his shoes to cross his legs over the chequered blanket Arthur had just laid down.

“Ohi! Kindly rest your fat arse somewhere else, this is mine!” immediately snapped the Brit, glaring at the American from above.

“I didn’t bring mine, let’s share.” proposed Alfred, unperturbed by the deadly stare he was getting: “C’mon, sit down.” he added, patting Arthur’s shin and receiving an half-hearted kick in return.

“Don’t be like that,  _ Arthùr, mon chou _ . Come sit with me if you prefer.” said Francis, patting a spot next to him on his blue blanket and sending a small kiss to his friend, who snorted.

“Please, let’s all behave…” proposed worriedly Feliciano, already helping Ludwig and Kiku unpack the food and beverages.

“Let’s celebrate and have fun!” exclaimed Antonio, uncorking a bottle of red wine with a satisfied smile, even though what they were meant to celebrate was still obscure to him.

Arthur sighed and just sat down on the spot, slowly taking off his black boots while Alfred cheered for his small victory and Gilbert laughed his peculiar hissing laugh.

“What are these?” asked the American, suddenly tickling Arthur’s left earlobe, making him jump and squeak loudly.

“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing!?” he cried in shock, immediately covering his ear, quickly becoming red as much as his cheeks. The other just laughed.

“Sorry, didn’t know you were ticklish!” he exclaimed: “I just saw the holes…” he added.

“Those are… were my piercings.” replied Arthur, getting a grip on himself and glaring at the American.

“Why don’t you wear them? I like guys with pierced ears.” said amusedly Alfred, once again completely unfazed by Arthur’s menacing stares.

“It’s none of your business!” he exclaimed, quickly blushing all over again.

“Do you also like tattoos? Because  _ Arturo _ have one of those,” suggested Antonio, with candor.

“In a very interesting place too!” grinned Francis, immediately reached by the boot Arthur had thrown at him and that he managed to dodge fast enough not to get hit in the face.

“I like tattoos.” said Feliciano, already munching on a breadstick, in a great diplomacy effort.

“I do too.” whispered Alfred in order to be heard by Arthur, whose flush worsened considerably.

The conversation’s topic changed very quickly and they started asking Kiku questions about the Japanese hanami tradition.

“So you just sit under cherry trees, drink alcohol, eat sushi and that’s it?” asked Francis, confused.

“We have deep contemplations and thoughts about the flowing of time and transience of beauty.” replied Kiku, solemnly sipping orange juice from his paper cup.

“I bet that happens after the alcohol.” snickered Gilbert, elbowing Alfred: “At least that’s what we do in Oktoberfest.”

“Shut up,” sighed Ludwig.

“It’s a nice tradition. I too find seasons and inflorescences a fascinating phenomenon to observe,” commented Arthur, looking upward at the blossoming pink flowers.

“It has lately become just a recurrent gathering with friends and coworkers,” admitted Kiku, then added: “But I like to always keep in mind the traditional meaning of it.”

 

They ate the delicious makizushi Kiku had made, together with a soft focaccia Feliciano baked and dessert provided by Francis.

“Wow, guys! You actually made an effort! I just went buy french fries at the nearest Mickey D’s,” declared Alfred, extracting a McDonald’s bag from his backpack.

“Why am I not surprised?” commented between his teeth Arthur, still getting the American’s attention.

“At least I brought something.” said Alfred, suddenly on the defensive.

“I brought tea!” protested the Brit, pointing toward the silver thermos near all the other bottles: “And it’s not my fault I don’t get access to the kitchen…” he mumbled, resentful.

“I don’t really want it to explode again.” said Francis, lying leisurely down on his side, sipping wine like an ancient Roman.

“It never exploded, you plonker!” cried Arthur.

“Feli, do you remember when you asked about the black stains and cracks on the kitchen’s ceiling?” said Francis to the Italian, who nodded: “Those are the remains of Arthur’s culinary art at its finest.”

The second and thankfully last boot was thrown immediately soon after, causing wine to spill over Francis’s blanket.

 

To distract the house-mates from seemingly endless quarrels, Ludwig and Feliciano proposed to go buy a soccer ball to play. They left the group at the same time Gilbert tried to explain a weird card game to the others.

“You know how board and card games are the first cause of broken friendships?” asked Alfred.

“Well, there isn’t even a strong friendship to begin with…” noted Arthur and Francis nodded.

“You people are weird…” commented Alfred, looking down at the cards in his hands.

“Tell me you’ve got a two of spades.” he said to Arthur, on his right.

“No, but can I tempt you with a bunch of five on your nose?” replied Arthur, with a fake smile.

“I already feel the game’s tension rising.” noticed Gilbert, playing his first card.

“In retrospect, inviting us has been a bad idea.” said Francis to Kiku, who heaved the smallest and most discreet sigh ever.

 

Rain started pouring down before their third and last hand of the game and before Ludwig and Feliciano’s return.

The group separated under the sudden storm: Kiku, Antonio and Francis ran with the food’s leftovers, blankets and bags to the nearest shelter, an old closed kiosk’s roof; Gilbert run away in the different direction and disappeared; somehow Arthur and Alfred took shelter together, under the park’s bandstand.

 

Francis, Kiku and Antonio shared a long, awkward silence. At least until the Frenchman opened the cooler bag and offered a plastic cup of wine to the other two.

“Now we just have to wait for nature to run its course.” said Francis.

Kiku sipped from his cup and nodded: “So you knew.”

“Obviously.” replied Francis.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” admitted Antonio with a smile.

 

Feliciano and Ludwig were right next to the car park where they had left their rented car, so they just opened it and sat inside, waiting for the storm to pass.

“What a strange weather.” commented Feliciano, looking at the thick wall of rain falling on the windows, creating a loud background sound inside the vehicle: “At least we’re staying dry.”

Ludwig just nodded, and silence fell inside the small atmosphere of the car.

Feliciano looked back outside, hugging the soccer ball close with his arms around it.

They stayed like that for a while, but the rain’s intensity didn’t subside.

“I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me.” said Ludwig all of sudden.

“Why?” asked Feliciano, surprised.

“I’m not good at chatting,” said the German, blushing slightly on his very pale cheeks: “I’m boring.” he added.

Feliciano shook his head, looking at the tall Engineering student with a sad expression: “I enjoy the quiet.” he said.

They both listened carefully to the silence that followed, filled with the sound of the rain all around them.

“Sometimes, words aren’t really needed.” smiled the Italian, making the other smile back, shyly.

Just a bunch of seconds after, Feliciano threw the ball at Ludwig, who caught it on reflex before it hit the window. The German looked back at the other, who just blinked and put a finger on his mouth to demand silence.

Ludwig nodded and threw the ball back, smiling at the silly game.

They played until the rain calmed down, becoming a soft, opaque drizzle.

“Ludwig, you’re not boring.” said Feliciano, looking back outside, the ball once again on his lap: “I’m happy I’m here with you.”

The German bit his lips and said: “Thank you.”

Not long after, they were joined by Gilbert, completely soaked in rain, who inexplicably seemed to smile with joy and pride seeing them together and climbed in on the back seat, saying he was sorry for the disturb and to carry on with whatever they were doing.   
Ludwig asked Feliciano to lend him the soccer ball just so he could throw it at his brother’s face.

 

“At least there are no lightnings.” said Alfred, Arthur’s blanket wrapped around his shoulders, as he sat next to the Brit on the bandstand’s stairs. They were both looking at the rain heavily falling a few inches from them, filling the air with its typical smell and sound.

“Why, do they scare you?” asked Arthur, sarcastically.

“I ain’t scare of nothing.” proudly declared Alfred: “I’m a brave hero.”

“A hero?” laughed Arthur, looking at Alfred wearing his blanket like a cape: “Even heroes’ quality worsened during the years, I see…”

“Hey, I’ll have you know this hero is certified high quality.” replied Alfred, casually tapping his hand on his chest, covered with a Captain America’s t-shirt.

Arthur snickered again, covering his mouth with his hand, elbow resting on his bended knee: “Yes? Then how many damsel in distress did you save?” he asked.

“None. Yet.” replied Alfred, underlining the second word: “But I did rescue some neighborhood’s cats stuck on trees, back in the US.”

“That’s definitely a valid certification.” joked Arthur.

Alfred bumped their shoulders, making the other wobble slightly.

“You’re no fun.” whined the American.

“I am, you just don’t understand my wit.” retorted the Brit, amused.

Silence fell between them, filled only by the sound of rain.

“Why don’t you wear your piercings anymore?” asked Alfred, looking again at Arthur’s left ear.

“Why do you care?” asked Arthur, but Alfred only replied with a shrug.

The Brit sighed, then explained: “They’re connected to bad memories.”

“I’m sorry.” said immediately Alfred, but Arthur just shrugged back.

“I still wear some of them when I feel like it.” he admitted.

Alfred looked away while saying: “Then I wish I could get to see them, when you feel like it.”

Arthur stayed silent.

“See what I’ve done there? I wished on a fallen rain drop.” laughed suddenly Alfred.

“You’re insane, you know that?” said Arthur, glaring at him.

“I can’t be, I’ve already told you I’m a hero.” repeated Alfred patiently.

“What kind of hero are you anyway?” asked, Arthur, feigning interest.

“Something like… a space cowboy. That’d be cool,” replied Alfred: “I could fight space pirates or something.”

Arthur hid once again his smirk behind his hands and rolled his eyes.

“Why that face? Don’t you like cowboys?” asked the American.

“No, but I like pirates.” admitted Arthur. Alfred made an affronted face.

“Or… we can be dancers.” he then proposed.

“What?” asked Arthur, confused.

“You know what I always think about when I see a rain like this one?” asked excitedly the American.

“Alfred, no…” warned him Arthur, shifting cautiously away from him.

“We should be dancing.” said him, getting up and taking Arthur’s hand in his in the same movement: “C’mon, show me what you’ve got.” he added, pulling.

Arthur protested loudly and tried to resist, but Alfred’s stronger arms succeeded in lifting him up and drag him under the pouring rain.

“What is wrong with you!? You bloody nutter!” cried Arthur, already half-soaked after just two steps outside.

“I’m awful at flirting…” admitted Alfred suddenly, visibly reconsidering his idea, his glasses completely covered with drops and bangs plastered to his forehead.

“That…” Arthur’s high, hysterical voice caught in his throat, as did his breath.

“I can see that.” he said a moment later, dragging Alfred back inside the pavilion and looking at the other’s now foggy lenses, chuckling despite himself.

“Such a mighty hero.” he sighed, smiling, as the other blushed and took of his glasses to try and dry them on his equally soaked t-shirt.

“We can… dance here at least?” asked Alfred, looking around the platform.

Arthur sighed loudly, then shrugged: “If you let me lead…” he said.

And so they clumsily danced for a pair of minutes, laughing in embarrassment, wet from heads to toes, until the storm calmed down.

“But why with me?” asked Arthur when they stopped.

Alfred blinked in confusion, then replied: “Why not? You said I’m handsome…”

“I-I didn’t!” exclaimed Arthur, blushing furiously, then panicked seeing Alfred’s expression crumble and immediately added: “Ok, I… I mean, everyone can see how handsome you are...”

“Aw, Artie!” cooed Alfred.

“Shut up, wanker! And don’t call me Artie!” barked the other.

“But thing is, I find you attractive too. You’re fun to tease.” said Alfred, surprising Arthur once again: “And… you’re cute when you blush and smile.” he admitted, with a sincere smile.

Arthur looked away, overwhelmed with shyness.

“You have the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.” added Alfred.

“Okay, you can stop now.” mumbled Arthur, making the other laugh.

“And just so you know, saying these things was a more effective way of flirting than all the previous nonsense.” said the Brit.

“I had fun trying.” smirked Alfred and Arthur glared at him.

“We started in the worst way possible, so… can we do it all over?” asked Alfred, as they stepped out of the pavilion and walked toward the car. The rain had stopped almost completely and their steps in wet trainers and boots over the wet grass created low splashing sounds.

Arthur hummed in approval.

Alfred bumped playfully into him, making the other lose is step for a fraction of second.

“Hey,” started the American.

“Hi,” replied Arthur and, before Alfred could say anything else, he stated: “I don’t serve Diet Coke.”

Alfred’s laugh echoed around them in the almost empty park.

 

In the end, the hanami had to be rescheduled for the following weekend.

It didn’t rain, the cherry trees were in bloom and they managed to finish four hands of Gilbert’s ridiculous card game and a match of soccer without major accidents.


	4. Homesickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY SORRY SORRY for the long delay! With summer vacations and coming back in September with a pile of work to do, I wrote very slowly :'( But now we're here!
> 
> Same warnings as the first chapter: **not beta-ed, English is not my first language**.  
>  Feel free to contact me on Tumblr! I am [brightly-painted-canvas](brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com) and I'd like to reply to any questions or requests about this AU :) Come visit me!

Feliciano knew it had to happen, sooner or later. He didn’t know when or how, he just knew it had to happen. Still, he was left completely unprepared for how the homesickness stuck him one fine day of late April, almost May.

Sun was incredibly shining above London after a whole week of light spring rain. The clear blue sky was dotted with tiny, quickly moving white clouds and the wind was strong, but more fresh than cold.

It was Friday and all the students in his Uni were just waiting for lessons to end and the weekend to start. In the garden some of them were having impromptu pic-nics and were gathered in small groups, sitting on benches or on the fresh green grass, chatting, studying or simply enjoying the nice weather.

And to Feliciano it looked so much like Italy his stomach knotted and he suddenly felt like crying.

“You okay, buddy?” asked Alfred, looking at the Italian’s longing gaze toward the garden and still hands around a cup of coffee that was definitely lukewarm by now.

“I… yes.” replied Feliciano with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

They were looking at a very distant garden in his memories: the courtyard of his high school in Milan that was always flooded with students during breaks as soon as the sun shone at the end of winter; the Saturday afternoons at the park with the quiet breeze under trees in the middle of the city; spring breaking in Venice, outside his dormitory window.

He suddenly realised how much he missed home.

“What about taking a small break?” asked Kiku, closing his book after realising both his studying companions weren’t paying much attention to their respective assignments.

Feliciano just nodded, still looking away.

Alfred and Kiku exchanged a concerned look when they heard the usually cheerful Italian sigh loudly.

 

That evening he waited to be alone in his and Gilbert’s room to make the phonecall.

“ _Che hai? Stai male?_ ” (What’s wrong? Are you sick?) immediately asked his brother Lovino, answering the phone.

“ _No, sto bene. Volevo sentirti._ ” (No, I’m fine. I just wanted to hear from you) he said, sitting comfortably on his bed, back against the headboard.

“ _Non si poteva usare Skype?_ ” (Couldn’t we use Skype?) asked again Lovino.

“ _Tanto sto spendendo io._ ” (It’s me who’s paying for the call anyway) smiled Feliciano, used to his brother’s antics. Even Lovino’s venial quirks felt somehow nostalgic: “ _Come stai?_ ” (How are you?)

“ _Dovrei essere io a chiederlo…_ ” (I should be the one asking you) sighed Lovino, then added: “ _Sto bene. Pensavo di uscire, i ragazzi si ritrovano al bar._ ” (I’m fine. I was thinking about going out, the boys are at the pub)

Feliciano hummed, thinking about the pub where they all met when in Rome, a small place run by a family of their grandfather’s friends, one of the oldest shops in their neighborhood.

With the good weather approaching they used to place some benches and tables outside, so their clients could drink and chat until late in the cool air.

“ _Ohi, mi senti?_ ” (Hey, can you hear me?) asked suddenly Lovino, bringing Feliciano back from his memories.

“ _Sì, scusa… saluta gli altri da parte mia._ ” (Yes, sorry… say ‘hi’ to the others) replied the younger brother, voice suddenly more dark and distant.

“ _Sei sicuro di stare bene?_ ” (Are you sure you’re okay?) asked again Lovino’s voice from the phone.

“ _Sì, sono solo un po’ stanco. Per fortuna è venerdì._ ” (Yes, just a bit tired. Luckily it’s Friday) replied with another sigh Feliciano, trying to sound more smiley.

Lovino just hummed, only half-convinced. He knew his brother too well.

They knew each other too well.

“ _Senti, devo andare. Vuoi che ti passi il nonno?_ ” (Listen, I have to go. Do you want to talk with grandpa?) asked the older brother.

“ _No, fa nulla. Lo chiamo domani,_ ” (No, it’s fine. I’ll call him tomorrow) said Feliciano, adding: “ _Divertiti_ ” (Have fun).

“ _Va bene. Oh, comunque… chiamami se ti va, d’accordo?_ ” (Sure. Hey, by the way… call me when you feel like it, alright?) asked Lovino. Of course he had known all along that something was up.

Of course he was able to say at the very last what Feliciano needed to hear in order for his homesickness to reach its peak.

He nodded and tried to suppress a sob while saying bye to his brother, then he curled up on his bed, back toward the door and let the tears flow.

He missed his brother, his parents and his grandfather. He missed going out with his friends, riding his scooter through the old streets of the city center, bringing pizza boxes home and having dinner with his classmates after a test.

“Hey, Little Italy?” asked Gilbert opening their room’s door and peeking inside, surprised in seeing Feliciano alone on his bed, hidden by semi-darkness: “Do you want dinner?”

“I’m not hungry,” he replied, voice small and hoarse.

“You okay?” asked the German, slightly concerned.

“I am fine.” he said wearily, tired of replying to the same question.

He heard the door close and felt bad for how he had treated the house-mate. He turned around and looked at the room, at the other bed and at the light from the corridor projecting a long line on the floor, from under the door.

How could he say he was fine when he was not? Even though, he reflected, it was very difficult to explain how he felt, being it an emotion he was experiencing for the first time.

Time passed slowly and he was left in his thoughts.

He didn’t sleep well.

 

The morning after he got up and had dinner in the kitchen with Francis.

They shared a moka of coffee, the Frenchman secretly very happy he could now enjoy a nice espresso, thanks to the Italian’s presence in the house.

“Can I ask you a question?” said suddenly Feliciano, breaking the silence.

Francis blinked and nodded: “ _Bien sûr,_ ” he smiled.

“You said you missed Paris… how do you cope with it everyday?” said Feliciano, hands around his cup like he needed to heat them up or to hold onto something.

Francis immediately recognised the sad expression on the younger’s face.

“I try to concentrate on what’s on my schedule everyday, what I’m trying to accomplish. Then I have friends here that work as a distraction,” he chuckled, gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the house: “I call home when I get especially homesick and when it gets unbearable, I book a flight and take some time off.” he explained.

Feliciano nodded.

“The first months are the hardest, _mon chou_. It really happens to everyone, you’re not supposed to beat it or act stronger… it takes time to get used to it.” said kindly Francis, getting up to place his used cup in the sink and turn on the tap.

“So it never goes away?” asked Feliciano.

Francis turned around slightly to look the Italian in the eyes: “Not completely, I guess.”

 

He felt like going out and have a walk in the park or a tour in the center, but in the end he just stayed home alone, looking through old photo albums on Facebook and texting his friends.

The only distraction provided was Antonio, coming home in the afternoon after his shift at the supermarket and asking him if he wanted ice cream. They went out to get it.

“How is yours?” asked the Spaniard on the way home, licking his vanilla flavoured soft cream and looking at Feliciano, slowly eating his chocolate one.

“Good, do you want to try?” he offered.

Antonio tasted it, then nodded.

“They’re okay, but on days like this I really miss not having a kiosk selling _horchata_ at the nearest street corner.” said Antonio: “I picked up the vice in Valencia… best drink in the world.” he explained.

Feliciano didn’t really know what he was talking about, but smiled: “Do you miss Spain?” he asked.

“ _Sí, mucho._ ” replied Antonio: “But I am also really happy here.” he added easily.

“But you said… you came here with someone who in the end dumped you, right? What made you stay after that?” asked again Feliciano, confused.

“I fell in love very quickly with someone else, and then another… I guess I’m that type!” exclaimed the Spaniard, laughing.

They finished their ice creams as they reached their share-house’s street: “I’m also easily adaptable. But to be true, I once considered going back home.” he added, his smiling eyes turning suddenly sadder.

Feliciano blinked in surprise: “Why?”

“I messed around with someone I really care about and when it ended, I was really worried we couldn’t go back to be as we were before.” explained Antonio.

They stopped in front of their apartment’s building and the Spaniard looked up, toward their living room’s balcony: “But in the end everything went well and I’m still here.” he smiled again.

Feliciano didn’t inquire further, sensing the topic was something really dear and private.

 

Night came once again and Feliciano laid awake in bed, open eyes fixed to the ceiling as the rest of the house was already deep into slumber.

After minutes or hours lost in his thoughts, unable to fall asleep, he got up and quietly reached the living room, taking his phone with him: he sat on the couch in his pyjamas and scrolled his Twitter and Facebook apps in the still silence of the apartment at night.

At around 2 am he heard footsteps behind him and turned around to look at Arthur approaching. They shared a surprised look, despite being both very tired.

“Can’t sleep.” said simply the Italian, putting his phone away as Arthur nodded and slowly reached the couch, joining him in the extemporised wakefulness.

“What is the matter?” asked Arthur after a while.

Feliciano considered how to reply, then admitted: “I miss home.” and he once again had to hold back tears of frustration and exhaustion.

“Memories of my life there keep coming back and they don’t leave me alone… I really want to stop thinking about them and enjoy my time here, but they’re stronger and they hurt.” explained the Italian, voice small and soft in the quietness.

Arthur just looked at him with steady green eyes, trying to silently comfort the other.

“I don’t really know how to deal with homesickness, love.” he admitted: “I’ve never been anywhere else.” then he turned around to face Feliciano and asked: “What did you usually do when you couldn’t sleep?”

“I would eat…” admitted Feliciano, looking back at the kitchen’s door.

Arthur chuckled and Feliciano smiled embarrassed: “I don’t really feel like eating right now.”

He paused, considering the question. Then he added: “When I had nightmares, I went to sleep with my brother.”

Arthur’s smile softened as he nodded: “I would go to sleep on my older brother’s bed too, when he would not be home,” said softly the Brit, reminiscing memories of the past: “Me and my brothers we don’t… we really never got along. We were bad and cruel toward one another at home, but when things came up in our lives and we were beaten down by the rest of the world, we would always have each other’s back.” he explained, smiling fondly: “So, I always felt better just laying down upon my big brother’s bed covers, with a pillow under my head that smelled so much like him and his cigars and cologne. Though I’d never admit it to him… or confess I used to do it.” he laughed slightly, looking back at Feliciano.

“You seem to love your brother very much.” said Arthur.

“He’s the one I miss the most. Even when he was in America… or when I lived in Venice.” replied Feliciano, hugging his arms closed to his chest: “I should be used to not seeing him often, but I’m not.” he said softly.

Silence fell as they both thought about their small conversation.

Then Arthur got up slowly from the couch and asked: “Would it make you feel better sharing the bed with me?” he asked, smiling despite being conflicted with sudden shyness.

“Yes.” replied with a sincere smile Feliciano, following the Brit to his single bedroom.

 

It was dark, but Feliciano was happy he could see Arthur’s room for the first time, since it was usually locked up and kept secret from the other house-mates: the walls were painted green and had black phrases and quote handwritten on them; there was a The Clash poster and a board full of very old looking postcards; in one corner rested a red electric guitar and a big amplifier; books were placed everywhere, even in piles on the floor, but otherwise the room seemed very clean and tidy and smelled fresh, slightly spiced like those small candles that helped scenting the air.

Arthur climbed on his bed and laid down, holding the covers up for Feliciano to slide under.

They adjusted so they could both be comfortable in the small single bed and with their heads on one pillow, which to Feliciano smelled a lot like Arthur: like his chamomile shampoo, his black tea and roses.

“ _Buonanotte_ ,” mumbled the Italian, his voice reverberating in the silent and still space around them. He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh of relief.

With the tangible feeling of Arthur’s warm presence beside him, he finally drifted in a quiet sleep, dreamless and profound.

 

The day after, he gathered his courage and called his older brother once again, this time while on a break between classes: the corridor was filled with chatting students, but he found a quiet corner near a window and dialed Lovino’s number.

“ _Che c’è?_ ” (What’s up?) replied him after only two rings, always avoiding set phrases like ‘hello?’ or ‘how are you?’. Feliciano smiled.

“ _Volevo dirti che sto un po’ meglio,_ ” (I wanted to tell you I feel better now) he replied.

“ _Che sollievo._ ” (What a relief) snickered Lovino sarcastically.

“ _E che potresti venirmi a trovare per il ponte del 2 giugno… ti va?_ ” (And that you could come visit me during the 2nd of June holidays… would you like that?) he proposed.

Lovino took a long pause to consider: “Non avevi detto che non puoi avere ospiti?” (Didn’t you say you can’t have people over?)

“ _Tecnicamente, ma c’è spazio e se è solo per pochi giorni…_ ” (Technically yes, but there’s enough room and if it’s only for a few days…) suggested Feliciano.

“ _Va bene,_ ” said the older brother: “ _Dopo cerco dei voli._ ” (Fine, I’ll look for plane tickets later)

Feliciano smiled again, wider this time.

He held the phone with both hands while saying bye to his brother and sighed loudly when the call was over. He was relieved and felt truly better now.

The homesickness crisis was partially over: he had the best house-mates and friends he could ask for and he could now look forward to his brother coming and meeting them.

 

\--------

 

I know it's kind of small, but I'm preparing some extras (about Arthur's brothers? Or about Tonio's past love? Who knows!) I hope to post very soon.  
Also yes no Germany in this chapter but they still don't know each other that well... he'll be more present in the future!

 **Small notes:** \- the 2nd of June it's Italy Republic Day and it's a national holiday :)  
\- the dialogue in Italian is not translated litterally, I interpreted it to make it sound good in the translation as well.

Thanks for reading!


	5. (Late) spring cleanings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! I'm back with a new chapter, hoping you all aren't quite tired of this story yet.
> 
> As usual, same warnings as the first chapter: **not beta-ed, English is not my first language**.  
>  Also, this chapter has an Extra! You can find it here: [THiL Extra 2: (prequel) How SpUK happened](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9150403) (yes, you read that right. The main story is USUK, but there's been some other pairings in the past!).  
> Feel free to contact me on Tumblr! I am [brightly-painted-canvas](brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com) and I'd like to reply to any questions or requests about this AU :) Come visit me!

They all got woken up by the loud sound of clattering from the kitchen.

Feliciano made a surprised, still half-asleep sound as he rolled around and looked at his phone to check the hour: six thirty. Of a Saturday morning in May.

When the loud clattering didn’t subside but even increased in volume, he suspected it was voluntarily made by someone. Someone, by the sound of it, standing in the middle of the living room and banging a ladle on a steel pot.

At some point the rhythm changed and became more or less like a military march, to which he once again rolled around and with a great effort, got up from bed.

Glancing at the otherwise empty room, he realised who might be causing such a ruckus just a moment before a door from the end of the corridor banged open and a loud, angry voice screamed: “Prepare to die, Beilschmidt!” dominating, for a brief moment, the metallic banging.

“You’ll never catch me, Kirkland!” screamed back Gilbert, making Feliciano sigh loudly and card one hand through his bed-ruffled hair.

All around the living room there were now heavy and fast footsteps and screams of all kind, but mostly curses. He sighed again, glancing back at his pillow longingly, but by then too awake to attempt going back to sleep.

He stepped outside his room and looked toward the common area, view blocked by the presence on the threshold of both Antonio and Francis, the first in his boxers and a shirt, the other wearing a silk nightgown.  They both looked very tired and upset.

Feliciano glanced inside the living room and saw Gilbert standing on top of the couch, keeping a very angry Arthur at distance with a menacing steel ladle pointed in his direction.

“It has to be done!” he exclaimed, to justify his actions.

“It could have been done at nine am, though!” screamed back Arthur, tired after running around the room trying to catch the German disturber.

“The earlier we start, the earlier we finish!” retorted Gilbert.

“What is going on?” asked Feliciano, yawning.

“It’s spring cleaning time.” explained Antonio, grimacing.

Francis just sighed and headed back toward his room: “I suggest to get ready. It’ll be a very long day.” he said, disappearing inside to get properly dressed.

Antonio yawned in turn as Feliciano assisted to another face-off taking place in the living room: Arthur taking advantage of Gilbert’s distraction to jump on the couch, dodge the ladle and attempting to choke the other with a seemingly wrestling move.

“Help!  _ Hilfe _ ! Aaah!” screamed horridly the German, completely and voluntarily ignored by the other three house-mates.

 

When the situation had calmed down, they all had had breakfast and they were all dressed in comfy roomwear, the Operation Spring Cleaning (as Gilbert liked to call it) officially started.

“Is this tradition?” asked Feliciano, holding a Swiffer in his hands, not completely sure where to start using it in the big, messy room.

“Of course it is!” replied Gilbert, already dusting the television and furniture in front of the couch: “We must carry on the battle against dirt and mites each year, to guarantee the survival of our species.” he proclaimed.

“He’s got a severe case of OCD” whispered Francis, ready to vacuum the carpet: “Just indulge him.”

“I heard you!” exclaimed Gilbert half hidden behind the couch.

Arthur came back from his room in that precise moment, simultaneously rolling up his sleeves and looking around the messy room to find what to do to help: “Since we’re doing this all together, I shall inform you that the bookshop is to hold a second-hand book exchange next month. So if you find anything you’d like to get rid of…”

“We’ll take care of that when we get to the rooms.” decided with practiced method Gilbert, emerging from the spot he was busily cleaning: “All the rooms.” he added.

“You stay very far from mine.” said the Brit, intransigent.

“We have this argument every year!” informed Antonio from outside the window, where he was sweeping the balcony. Feliciano turned off the conversation and concentrated on the task at hand, Swiffer ready. Just occasionally he hummed the tune of ‘Whistle while you work’ and ‘A spoonful of sugar’ to keep his mind occupied.

 

In the end they managed to clean from top to bottom all the common rooms before noon. They ate sandwiches in the kitchen, now completely organised and spotless, except for Francis’ lost battle against the explosion evidences on the ceiling.

In the afternoon they tidied up their room and, as Antonio recalled always happening, they ended all sitting on the floor of the corridor, surrounded by boxes full of old memories and books.

Feliciano had sensibly less drawers and boxes being the last to settle in, so he just sat near Arthur and looked curiously into the Brit’s piles of books for something interesting to read.

“You can take these to the bookshop,” said Francis breaking the unusual silence between the house-mates. He gestured toward a stash of fashion magazines: “I don’t need them anymore.”

Arthur glanced quickly at them: “Ouch, frog. What a cold way to treat ol’ Barney.”

“He can go die in a ditch.” replied Francis: “The French intern proofreader slave’s got his own fashion event next month,” he snapped his fingers.

“You do?” asked Antonio, surprised.

“ _ Oui _ , and I’m tempted to title it ‘Revenge night’ too.” winked the Frenchman.

“I like that.” commented Arthur with a smirk.

“Look what I found!” exclaimed Gilbert, lifting something from a cardboard box and showing it to the others.

“Football sticker albums?” asked perplexed Feliciano.

“Yes! And they’re completed!” he exclaimed proudly: “I bet they cost a lot!”

“They’re not old enough… but maybe some kids at the bookshop would want them anyway.” commented Arthur.

“What!? I’m not giving them for free! I want to sell them!” protested Gilbert, hugging the sticker albums close as to protect them.

“I can buy you the Germany 2006 World Cup album.” proposed Feliciano, with suddenly a bemused glint in his eyes.

Both Francis and Gilbert jumped at the comment and exclaimed: “Don’t you even!”

Arthur and Antonio laughed, all the while the Spaniard was going through a pile of books on Arthur’s side. He took one and, opening it, something fell from it on his lap.

“A dried flower?” asked Feliciano, looking at it as Antonio picked it up.

“Looks like a rose…” said Francis.

“It’s a red carnation.” said Antonio, firmly. He turned the book around to read the title: “... Federico Gar cí a Lorca?” he asked then looked up at Arthur and smiled. The Brit smiled back, blushing a little as he took the book from the Spaniard’s hands.

“Are you giving it away?” asked Feliciano, interrupting the gaze.

“No, I think I’d like to keep it.” replied the Brit.

“Can I borrow it? I’ve never studied Spanish poetry.” said the Italian.

Arthur passed him the book, treating it with such sudden gentleness it surprised Feliciano: “Have a good read then.” he smiled gently.

 

Two more hours passed and they completed cleaning the whole house.

It was by then dinner time and Francis was already planning what to cook in his now perfectly clean kitchen when the doorbell rang and Arthur darted from the bathroom to the living room with such a speed they were all left speechless.

Even more so when the Brit, hair still wet after a shower and big sweater down half one shoulder, opened the door to greet Alfred and ask him to come inside.

“Yo.” said slightly embarrassed the American to the rest of the house, once the Brit was quickly back to his room to finish getting ready.

Francis, Gilbert and Antonio all stood perfectly still, while Feliciano smiled and waved: “Hi, Al!”

“Wait.” said suddenly Gilbert: “Wait a second because I feel I’m missing something here.”

“Me too.” agreed Antonio.

“They’re dating.” said Francis in a ‘told you so’ voice.

“What? Nooo,” replied Alfred, blushing: “I just… there’s a cocktail party at the Science Museum and I really wanted to go, but Kiku couldn’t accompany me so I asked Arthur.” he explained very quickly, talking fast like he was repeating something learnt by heart.

The others looked very suspicious.

“I believe the Museum part.” declared then Gilbert.

“Yes, but it’s still a date because Arthur doesn’t care about science.” said Francis.

“He said he was interested?” tried to justify Alfred even more.

At that, Arthur came back into the room and the whole room’s attention went to him.

“Is this a date, rosbif?” asked directly the Frenchman.

“I honestly thought it was.” said Arthur perplexed, looking from the house-mate to Alfred.

“Oh! Well… then it is!” exclaimed Alfred, blushing even more.

Arthur smiled, then his eyes widened as he remembered something: “I forgot a thing, give me one second.” and ran back to his room.

Silence fell once again.

“Get yourself comfortable, _ chéri _ . It’ll take him some time to chose which one…” said Francis with a wink, before leading toward the kitchen with Feliciano.

“Which one?” asked Alfred, perplexed.

Gilbert just shrugged and went back to his room.

Alfred sat down on the couch, waiting nervously. The only other still in the room was Antonio, who was still looking very curiously at him and making him very uncomfortable.

Then, as if recoiling from a long thought, the Spaniard moved and sat down beside him, quietly. He looked straight at him and said: “Break his heart and I'm breaking your legs.  _ ¿Entendido? _ ” with just a hint of one of his best evil smiles.

Alfred gulped, all words lost as he stared into the other’s eyes.

Antonio stood up and walked back to his room, leaving the American alone in the living room.

A couple of minutes later Arthur was finally ready to go: Alfred stood up quickly and walked toward the door, anxious to get out of the share-house as soon as possible.

Only outside he looked properly at Arthur, smiling quietly while climbing down the stairs and realised: “The earring?” he asked, stupidly.

Arthur blushed and gently touched the long, green pendant on his left ear: “Do you like it?”

Alfred smiled at how perfect that gesture had been and how the green of the stone matched Arthur’s eyes: “I do.” he nodded.

 

Two days after the successful Operation Spring Cleaning, during a break between classes, Feliciano found a quiet corner in a still half-empty classroom to open the book Arthur had lent to him.

The dried red carnation was still between the cover and the first page, but this time something else caught his attention: an inscription written quickly, in pencil.

It read: ‘ _ Si tú eres el tesoro oculto mío, / si eres mi cruz y mi dolor mojado, / si soy el perro de tu señorío, / no me dejes perder lo que he ganado / y decora las aguas de tu río / con hojas de mi otoño enajenado. _ ’ and was signed: ‘A. F. C.’

Feliciano smiled, sat more comfortably and started reading.


	6. Francis’s fashion night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time flies and now I have an update!
> 
> As usual, the warnings: **not beta-ed, English is not my first language**.
> 
> This chapter has not one, but two Extras! You can read them both here: [THiL Extra 3: USUK night and GerIta night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9812132/chapters/22033232) (it's this chapter's continuation from the point of view of the two main ships ;) )
> 
> Feel free to contact me on Tumblr! I am [brightly-painted-canvas](brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com) and I'd like to reply to any questions or requests about this AU :) Come visit me!

One Saturday afternoon, when they were all (minus Francis) sitting on the couch watching re-runs of Doctor Who, Arthur’s phone lit up on the coffee table and buzzed noisily.

The name on the call’s green screen was “Frog”.

Arthur sighed and got up to answer it in the kitchen, leaving the others listening with one ear to the show and with the other to the conversation in the room nearby.

“I don’t know,” they heard the Brit say: “I’m most definitely not comfortable enough to do that.”. After a long pause he sighed: “Well, then count me in, I guess.”

They grew curiouser and curiouser until Arthur approached the kitchen’s door exclaiming: “I’ll ask them, but you must calm down!” and reached the couch at a quick pace to gather their already focused attention: “Francis’s show needs models. Are you guys free tonight?” he asked, voice like he was literally quoting the Frenchman at the other end of the line.

They blinked once or twice, processing the information.

“Consider this: he’s desperate.” advised Arthur, holding the phone between them to press the speakerphone mode: suddenly the room was filled with the pitiful moans of Francis pleading them to accept.

Feliciano looked around to make sure that he wasn’t the only one completely befuddled by the situation: he almost sighed in relief noticing Gilbert and Antonio’s perplexed expressions.

 

And that was, more or less, the story of how they found themselves in a boutique in Soho, surrounded by young interns running around with clothes and hangers.

Francis was sat on a couch inside the changing room, a small area created with curtains and boards behind the runway that some workers were building right at that moment.

“Thanks for coming, my friends.” he sighed dramatically, looking weak and fragile like an old king on his deathbed.

“Do you need something to drink? Or eat? You don’t look well.” said Feliciano, worried for the other’s health.

“I don’t need food, I need models!” cried Francis, whining like he was on the verge of tears: “The agency cancelled on me. With an e-mail. An e-mail!” he bawled.

“We’re here to help.” sighed Arthur, folding his arms and looking annoyed.

“Not you. You’re skinny and you’d scare the audience,” waved him away the Frenchman. Then he took Gilbert and Antonio’s hands in his and pleaded: “You will do me this favour, right?”.

Antonio just nodded, but Gilbert looked unfazed in his friend’s eyes and stated: “There’s a price.”

“You wound me!” exclaimed Francis, looking almost outraged: “But I’m desperate, so whatever the price is, I’ll pay.” he reasoned, defeated.

Feliciano moved sideways, not sure what to do or say. Francis noticed him and smiled: “Will you help me fitting the models,  _ mon chou _ ? You’re Italian so you must have some kind of a fashion sense in you…”.

Arthur snorted, but Feliciano nodded shyly: “I can try.”

“ _ Rosbif _ , you can take care of the reception’s organization. It’s a charity event and we’re expecting from fifty to one hundred guests.” ordered Francis, getting up to guide his friends around the shop, to show them the preparations in progress.

“I need two more models.” he reasoned, pinching his goatee and looking at the hangers in the changing room.

“What about Ludwig?” proposed Antonio, looking from Francis to Gilbert, who shrugged: “Good luck trying to convince  _ West _ to do something like that. He’s a shy one, my little brother.”

“Feli, could you please call him and ask?” said suddenly Francis, making the Italian blush: “Why me?” he asked, confused.

“Just… because you’re a friend. Tell him you’ll be the helper.” smiled slyly Francis.

“That’s evil…” commented Arthur, drawing Francis’s attention toward himself.

“What’s your American  _ beau _ doing tonight?” he grinned, making Arthur’s expression change from definitely not amused to outraged.

“I’m not calling him to ask!” he refused.

“Why not? He’s got  _ le droit physique _ , non? And don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to see him walk on that runway with some of my best creations on…” provoked him Francis.

“Goddamnit, Bonnefoy! Why do all your models have to be buff?” snapped the Brit, blushing and already holding his phone in his hand.   
“I’m an aesthete.” was the Frenchman proud justification.

 

Of course Alfred said ‘yes, no problem’ and in about one hour was there with them, trying on all kind of clothes and generally being nice and smiley, to Arthur’s increasing annoyance.

Ludwig had been more difficult to persuade, but three different phone calls from Feliciano, Francis and Gilbert (the latter reminding him of some kind of a debt the German had with his older brother) succeeded in convincing him to join the crazy adventure.

With the opening hour approaching, the studio had started looking more refined and ready: behind the scene, Francis was successfully controlling the show preparation and everyone was, surprisingly enough, good and fitted for their assigned job.

“ _ Arthùr _ , this looks splendid!” cheered Francis, walking slowly on the runway to glance around the decorated room, a task his British friend had completed some minutes before: “ _ Bon _ ! Now, take care of the reception. And please try not to traumatize the interns so much!” he asked, just a little bit concerned by the terrified looks in the young helpers’ eyes.

He went back to the dressing room and instructed Feliciano on which clothes had to be ready for each model, then he had a few words with the makeup artist.

“First time I see him this confident.” admitted Antonio, currently on standby with the other models, sitting on the couch and on some chairs: “It’s a nice sight.” he smiled.

“Have you really ever been to a fashion show, Feli?” asked Gilbert, curious.

“Yes.... once or twice, with my brother.” replied the Italian, hanging a black suit and a pair of jeans on a stand near the couch: “He’s much more into it than I am.” he admitted.

“Does he model?” asked Alfred, eyes fixed on his phone as he was playing some game.

“Not as a fixed job, but he did shootings for some commercials.” explained Feliciano.

“ _ Tiene que ser lindo _ …” mumbled Antonio, lost in his thoughts.

Feliciano hummed in agreement, but then added: “ _ Ci assomigliamo un po’ _ ...”

They were interrupted by Francis storming back in to ask for reinforcements: “Alfred, does Kiku own a camera? I need a photographer tonight.”

“I’m asking.” said the American, quickly pausing his game to text the Japanese roommate.

“You haven’t explained what we have to do.” reminded Ludwig, glancing at Francis with a concerned look: “Do we just have to walk?” he asked.

Francis clapped his hands once and nodded: “ _ C’est vrai _ , you need instructions. There will be music, so you can simply walk to the beat. You’ll stop at the end of the platform, smile, turn around and get back. Three changes of clothes each,” he quickly listed, looking at the four of them: “I think I’d like to go with Antonio first, then Ludwig, Alfred and Gilbert. At the end of the show you will be asked to got back to the runaway together, for the votings.” he concluded, simply.

“The votings?” asked Gilbert, confused.

“Yes. Haven’t I told you?” asked Francis exhibiting a fake surprised expression, glancing back at Arthur who had just entered the dressing room to hear the conversation: “It’s a charity auction sale. The audience at the end of the show can bid on the clothes and on the models. The one who wins will get a free coupon on the next collection and one dinner with the chosen model. On me.” he smiled.

“I’m going home.” announced Ludwig getting up from the couch.

“No, wait!” exclaimed Francis, trying to block him: “I said it’s for charity! All funds raised from the auction go to charity!”

“But who’s attending? I don’t really feel like having a date with an old lady, no offence.” said Gilbert, also blocking Ludwig’s attempt to escape.

“I don’t mind that, it sounds like fun.” smiled Antonio, and Alfred shrugged, looking with a hint of a smirk to Arthur, who huffed.

“Lots of other stylists were invited. And their families, too. Don’t worry, you won’t be assaulted by weird people and it’s all for fun, they all know it’ll be just an occasion to give money for a good cause. Also, dinner will be at your discretion!” explained Francis, once again sounding desperate to keep them there: “Wherever you want, at whatever cost!” he added.

Ludwig didn’t look much convinced, but Gilbert agreed and to honour whatever debt the two of them had, the younger brother gave up and sat back on the couch.

Kiku’s affirmative and borderline creepily excited reply came some minutes later, as Francis was showing the stage and the outfits to his ‘models for a day’.

 

At around 6 pm the guests started arriving.

They were served a light cocktail at the shop’s entrance and then, about an hour later, they were guided by Arthur and the interns to the main room.

By then the models were ready for the show: dressed up with their first outfit, with makeup on and empty stomach since Francis had not allowed them to eat before going on stage.

The show, all in all, was a success: the audience appreciated Francis’s original collection and his choice of using non-professionals as models. Feliciano, Francis and Arthur worked hard behind the scenes to help their friends change and have everything ready on time.

Kiku snapped some good memories of the completely unexpected but memorable evening.

When the last outfit had been displayed and the audience started clapping and cheering, Francis got upstage to thank everyone for coming.

“It’s been a pleasure to host my first show with this honourable purpose. For the entire projecting process I’ve been helped and surrounded by friends, the same friends I see in the audience here tonight,” he made a pause in his speech, looking at all his co-workers, journalists and acquaintances: “And also, the friends who have supported me in my private life, to whom I also have to acknowledge tonight’s success.” he clapped his hands, inducing the audience to do the same.

Feliciano and Arthur, who were by now sat beside Kiku around the runway, were asked to stand up and show themselves: “Here are my old and very new friends, who helped in making this show possible!” exclaimed Francis, with a wink in their direction.

“And I also want to thank my models, who are coincidentally also my friends,” said Francis and someone in the audience laughed: “For being all very good looking men and for always lending me a hand when I need it.” smiled the Frenchman, brightly and sincerely.

Said models came upstage, still in their make up and in Francis’s styled clothes.

They received another round of applause and bowed, together with their stylist friend.

 

“And now,  _ mesdames et messieurs _ , I declare open the charity auction!” exclaimed Francis.

The room buzzed with anticipation as the audience listened on with attention, Feliciano noticing a lot of people ogling the four men on stage.

Arthur sat back down with a huff and crossed his arms, looking suddenly very angered by the situation.

Kiku kept snapping pictures.

“The first article we’ve got tonight is of Spanish breed,” winked Francis, circling around Antonio: “A  _ mucho caliente _ cashier of a supermarket,” he said, making the audience laugh: “Who’s capable of making you laugh and get as happy as he always is.” he concluded, as Antonio made a funny gesture with his hands and, opening his arms said: “ _ Fusososo! _ ”.

“What?” asked Feliciano, confused.

“It’s one of their inner jokes.” explained without explanation Arthur, sighing.

“Bidding starts from a minimum of 8 pounds.” said Francis, immediately pointing to a raised hand in the audience: “ _ Oui _ ?” he asked.

“Twenty pounds.” offered the man with his hand still in the hair.

“Twentynine!” exclaimed a female voice.

“Thirty!” went another one.

Feliciano looked around the room as the auction went on: the audience seemed to be having fun, which looked somehow nice. Antonio too looked very amused, winking and waving at each person who added to the amount he had already collected.

“Sixty-four pounds was the last bid. Who offers for more?” asked Francis when the numbers stopped rising. The audience looked suddenly more tense, like they were waiting for the verdict.

“ _ Trois… deux… un…  _ sold! We’ve got a winner!” exclaimed excitedly Francis, pointing to a young girl sitting in the first row of chairs around the runway, who blushed profusely.

“My secretary Amy wins my roommate Antonio, how nice.” said Francis, sending Antonio offstage to sit beside the blushing girl.

“The second item on display…” went on Francis, now standing beside Gilbert: “Is a stallion of pure Prussian blood.” he winked as the German laughed in sudden and unexpected modesty.

With a few more words as a quick presentation, the auction continued.

Gilbert was won by a blonde journalist sitting right besides Kiku and, as he walked towards her, he high-fived his three friends.

“Moving on to our third friend,” said Francis, approaching Alfred, who smiled: “Here’s a Made In USA product you don’t want to miss on this shelf.”

Feliciano and Kiku shivered, feeling the tension rising and burning from the seat between them, occupied by Arthur.

“Eyes like the sky and a blinding smile, who would say no to dinner with our Alfred?” asked Francis with a smirk not-so-subtly directed at his British friend, who snarled: “I’ll kill you.” under his breath.   
Feliciano yelped in terror.

To worsen the situation, the bid numbers raised at an alarming speed.

Feliciano didn’t know how to help Arthur calming down, as it seemed his anger worsened at every new voice adding a price.

“One-hundred and twenty-five!” exclaimed suddenly the Englishman, glancing murderously to the stage and to Francis in particular, who smiled the most complacent smile Feliciano had ever seen on a face.

“Sold!” cried the Frenchman, to everyone’s surprise, especially Arthur’s.

“My dearest friend  _ Arthùr _ gets to spend a whole night of passion with this hot piece of man!” he cheered, making the whole room laugh and both Arthur and Alfred blush like mad men.

“He’s fixing this auction!” protested Arthur, both disbelieved and relieved as Alfred sad down with the group of friends.

“Who cares? It’s for charity! And it feels good knowing your interest in me has such an high price.” he winked, making the Brit shut up and turn completely red.

Francis was by then already describing his last model on offer, Ludwig looking very uncomfortable all alone on the stage with the Frenchman.

The last auction started and, just as it happened for the previous three, tension rose quickly between the audience to participate in the bidding game.

Feliciano paled considerably at how high the price had already arrived and he was frantically looking around the room to spot whoever was trying to win Ludwig over.

Suddenly Kiku raised his hand and said, calmly but firmly: “One hundred.”

“What are you doing!?” whispered the Italian, shocked.

Alfred laughed and exclaimed: “One hundred and five!”, making Feliciano even more confused as Arthur sighed: “What a bunch of idiots” under his breath.

“Interesting turns of events, I must say!” commented Francis, amused at the battle going on between his friends: “Who offers more?”

“One hundred and ten!” blurted abruptly Feliciano, almost standing up for the force of his intervention. Then, weakly he added: “Which I don’t think I ever own in my bank account.”

Thankfully enough Gilbert was next, yelling: “One hundred and twenty for my handsome baby brother!”, a statement which brought laughter and chaos inside the room.   
In the end, Gilbert won under thunderous applauses.

 

The whole event ended in a flash: Francis was interviewed by the journalists and remained at the entrance talking and thanking everyone for coming, while the others helped cleaning out and the four models were finally able to remove the makeup and get back in their own clothes.

When everything had been sorted out, the only thing left to do was wait for the workers to remove the runway and make room for the boutique’s previous collection and furniture.

“So,” said Francis, finally free to walk back to the group of friends, all looking very much ready to go (especially the four starving models): “Are you going to consume a special dinner with your special someone?” he asked, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s gonna cost you some good money,  _ Schätzchen _ .” said Gilbert matter-of-factly: “I wouldn’t be that happy if I were in your shoes.”

“I am honestly and sincerely delighted whenever  _ l’amour _ is involved.” explained the Frenchman, looking oddly ecstatic and also a bit drunk.

Antonio shrugged and quickly finished tying his shoelaces: “Amy is waiting outside.  _ Hasta luego, mi amigos _ !” he waved goodbye, heading toward the entrance of the shop.

“My owner had work to do tonight, so we’re having a date some other day,” explained Gilbert: “And my other date seems to hate me right now,” he added, looking back at Ludwig who rolled his eyes: “Which means I’m free to go out and celebrate, if you’re up to it.”

“ _ Bien sûr _ !” cheered Francis, clapping his hands: “Who else is coming?” he asked.

“I’m going home.” said Ludwig resolute, but was once again stopped by his older brother, who held him back by his arm to say: “ _ West _ , I am sorry you had to endure all this.”

The Engineering student came to an halt and looked at his brother’s eyes, surprised by how genuinely apologetic the other had sounded.

“I am gifting my price of tonight’s auction to someone who will appreciate and value your company way more than how I will ever do.” said the older brother, waving the winning ticket of the fashion show in the air before offering it to Feliciano, who’s eyes widened critically.

“I… I-I mean… I don’t…” tried to formulate the Italian, to no success.

“What can I say in front of another proof of what  _ l’amour _ can do! Enjoy your life together, my dearest friends!” laughed excitedly Francis, most definitely tipsy, hugging Feliciano and Ludwig in one single awkward embrace.

“C’mon, Franny! Give them some privacy, let’s go.” snorted Gilbert, disentangling his French friend from his grasp on very panicked Ludwig and Feliciano: “Are you coming?” he asked, toward Kiku, Arthur and Alfred.

The Japanese nodded, but Alfred circled Arthur’s waist and said: “My owner said he’s tired of seeing your faces, so we’re ‘consuming’ somewhere else.”

“Worst choice of words I’ve ever had the misfortune to hear.” commented Arthur, raising an eyebrow and making everyone laugh.

 

They left the boutique at around 9 pm.

 

The day after, a Sunday afternoon, they were all reunited in the share-house.   
They didn’t talk about their night at all. Not even to help Francis recall what happened after he drunk too much to remember. Not even to clarify where Feliciano and Ludwig went together, in the end.

They only had a good laugh some days later, when Kiku sent a zip file with all the pictures he had taken during the fashion show (and a few during the lads night out).

They printed their favorites and stuck them on the fridge.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

**More Notes** : I have absolutely no idea about how a charity fashion event should work, so if anything sounds completely absurd for anyone who knows better, let me know. The inspiration came from a very old One Tree Hill's episode (LOL) but that was set in high school so... yeah... completely different.

Also, the auction's prices may be too cheap for an event like this, but considering they're almost all students/minimum wage I preferred to write them so they could actually participate to the auction. I'm sorry if it sounds strange/silly.


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